


The Things We Cannot Change

by jujus_writing_corner



Series: Whumptober 2019 [6]
Category: Real Person Fiction, Youtube RPF
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kidnapping, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 08:44:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20927387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujus_writing_corner/pseuds/jujus_writing_corner
Summary: Dr. Iplier has an encounter with the (angry, distraught, revenge-driven) parent of a previous patient.Whumptober Day 6: Dragged Away





	The Things We Cannot Change

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Doc's got a lot of baggage, and sometimes that baggage comes back to haunt him.
> 
> Enjoy!

Dr. Iplier knows that his occasional nightly walks are a bad habit, one that’s gotten him in trouble more than once, but it’s not enough to keep him inside when there’s that crispness in the air. Besides, he never goes far, and he knows better than to cut through alleyways or accept a ride from an unmarked car.

Yet, he knows he’s close to finding trouble again on this particular night. He’s being followed, by someone who seems to be making no effort to hide it. If Dr. Iplier slows or stops walking, so does his pursuer. Dr. Iplier doesn’t dare look back long enough to get a good look at the man, so he can’t tell if it’s someone he’s seen before. If he makes it back to Ego Inc. fast enough then he’ll be safe; no human will be able to follow him inside. But the footsteps behind him are getting faster, louder –

Dr. Iplier breaks into a run a second too late, and his pursuer grabs the back of his jacket and yanks him backwards.

“You’re not getting away from me,” a man’s voice growls, not deep but haggard, like speaking is an effort.

He throws Dr. Iplier against a wall, back-first, knocking the breath out of him. Dr. Iplier blinks stars out of his eyes to see his aggressor: A man a head taller than Dr. Iplier, in jeans and a stained hoodie, with a layer of stubble over his face. His eyes are bloodshot, and the hand he wraps around Dr. Iplier’s throat shakes.

“What–” Dr. Iplier gasps, “Who are you?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember,” the man scoffs.

Dr. Iplier peers closer, gears turning in his mind, and suddenly, it clicks.

“Roger?” he asks. “Roger Millfield??”

It’s been a couple months since Dr. Iplier last saw Roger, and he looked so different then. He was clean-shaven, well-dressed, the bags under his eyes were the light, shallow bags of a person who maybe didn’t get enough sleep but was generally content. But his eyes were bloodshot then, too, and it’s the eyes that Dr. Iplier remembers.

Because Roger wasn’t in Dr. Iplier’s clinic for himself: It was for his sixteen-year-old daughter, Kelsey. She’d only had her driver’s license for a few weeks before a drunk driver ran a red light and hit her. Her clock was already red by the time she made it to Dr. Iplier’s clinic but he tried to save her anyway, doing his best to put her bones back together and her organs back in order until she flatlined and couldn’t be brought back. He remembers the look on Roger’s face when he broke the news, remembers how he begged to have his girl back. Kelsey became one more notch in Dr. Iplier’s heart, one more soul for him to dream about on bad nights, one more case to regret.

“Kelsey was all I had,” Roger chokes out, snapping Dr. Iplier out of his reverie. “Her mother divorced me years ago and left us both. It was us, me and my girl against the world, until _you–_” He tightens his hand around Dr. Iplier’s throat. “Until _you_ let her _die_. I doubt you even remember her.”

“I do,” Dr. Iplier gasps, hands automatically trying to pry Roger away from his throat, “I remember her. She had brown hair, tied up, I remember her pink scrunchie.” Her face hadn’t been recognizable. Dr. Iplier can’t even say what color her eyes were. “I operated for three hours, she’d already lost so much blood and had so much trauma…when she flatlined I did compressions for twenty minutes and shocked her three times in between. She was just too far gone by the time she got to me.”

“Excuses!” Roger howls, slamming Dr. Iplier’s head against the wall. “Fucking excuses! You’re a doctor, it’s your job to save people! Don’t tell me there was nothing you could do!”

“I wish that wasn’t the truth,” Dr. Iplier says, “But it is. I didn’t want to believe it either, I wanted to save her. But even…” His breath shudders, and he realizes he’s close to tears. “E-Even the best doctors lose people.”

“You think you’re one of the best doctors?” Roger scoffs. “I hope you’re not. Because then your patients are gonna miss you.” He pulls a knife out of his hoodie pocket, and Dr. Iplier’s eyes go wide. “You’re coming with me, and you’re going to pay for letting my daughter die.”

“Look, Roger,” Dr. Iplier whispers, unable to make himself speak louder. There’s adrenaline pushing him higher and despair pulling him back down, going in equal tandem the longer he looks into Roger’s desperate, hateful eyes. “Roger,” he repeats, “I can’t imagine how you must be feeling. I-I have a kid, too. A son.” He swallows with effort. “He’s a bit older than Kelsey, and he…I love him so much. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him.” A tear escapes his eye, rolling down his cheek onto Roger’s hand. “And I d-don’t know what he’d do if he lost me, either. Please, Roger, I know you’re hurting, but this isn’t the answer. Tearing apart another family isn’t the answer.”

Roger stares at Dr. Iplier for many moments. His face is twisted up in the rawest kind of grief. Dr. Iplier knows from other patients, from talking to other distraught parents, that there’s no form of suffering more acute than what a parent feels after the loss of their child. And Dr. Iplier may not know it firsthand, but he’s come close to knowing it more than once thanks to Yandere’s devil-may-care recklessness. He knows, too, how grief changes people. Roger is not the same man Dr. Iplier remembers from a few months ago.

That fact is proven when Roger’s gaze narrows once more.

“You should’ve thought of that before you let _my_ family fall apart,” he says.

“Roger–” Dr. Iplier gasps, but is silenced when Roger points his knife at him.

“Shut up,” Roger hisses, “Or I’ll just kill you here.”

Roger hooks his arm around Dr. Iplier’s neck to haul him backwards with surprising strength. Dr. Iplier struggles, feet scrabbling against the ground. He grabs at Roger’s arm, trying to pull it away, but it’s useless. His grip is so strong it’s getting harder to breathe – or maybe it’s the fear.

“Roger, please, we can–” Dr. Iplier wheezes, trying again to get through. He yelps when he gets a slash up his arm for his words.

“Told you to be quiet,” Roger mutters, “Next time it’ll be your face.”

Still unable to get his breath, and now bleeding from a stinging gash on his arm, Dr. Iplier is pulled away into the darkness, little by little. Eventually he can’t fight anymore, and he can’t suppress a whimper as his aching legs drag out behind him and he’s forced along.

**Author's Note:**

> I might continue this after Whumptober's over. Let me know if you'd like to see that!


End file.
